Little by Little
by jamesraoulsilva
Summary: The scene in which Bond visits the deserted island takes a different turn
1. Little by little

Title: Little by little

Author: jamesraoulsilva(tumblr)/countess-nynke(DeviantArt)

Rating: -

Pairing: None

Summary: The scene in which Bond visits the deserted island takes a different turn

Warning: none

Word-count: 918  
Perspective: James Bond  
Copyright: James Bond (Skyfall), James Bond & Raoul Silva © Michael G. Wilson, Barbara Broccoli and directed by Sam Mendes. I do not claim to own any of these characters and I do not intend to profit through this fan fiction.

PLEASE NOTE: It is not my intention to pair James Bond and Silva. Feel free to do with this note whatever you like; I just want you to know that this is not my intention. My opinion on the island scene is that it's a power game and I liked the thought behind it so I rewrote it.  
TL;DR: Please enjoy.  
I approve of (constructive) criticism.

Little by little, I regained my consciousness.

There was a light room, with a lot of windows at least twice my size, full of computers, servers and wires in front of me, neatly ordered and creating a straight path which led to elevator doors. I was tied to a chair: my arms tied behind my back, however, my feet were free. I turned my head and saw the same bodyguards that were on the ship. They were standing behind me, three of them. One of them was carrying quite a heavy machine gun. It was the broad, big, heavy-build bald guy whom I suspect of knocking me unconscious. My head was hurting and it was hard to see clearly. For a while, nothing happened and I started to feel numb, but then I heard the zooming sound of an elevator going down.

The doors of the elevator at the end of the path slid open. A blond-haired man with a pale complexion in a light outfit stepped out. He was too far away for me to see his face, but I instinctively knew that this man had to be the man Sévérine had spoken about. My body tensed as he took a step, approaching, slowly coming closer, like a predator that knows his prey cannot escape. One step at the time... and he spoke, quite a heavy, rich voice with a slight accent filled my ears. "Hello James, welcome", he spoke calmly. To me it appeared he did this more often, as if this was just something he did every day. A routine job for him, however, on me it had a whole different effect. My body started to ache, but I maintained my neutral expression. I was trained for this. This was **my** routine job. With barely a pause, he continued speaking. "Do you like the island? My grandmother had an island when I was a boy. Nothing to boast of. You could walk along it in an hour. But for us it was paradise. One summer, we came for a visit and discovered the whole place had become infested with rats. They came on a fishing boat and gorged on the coconut. So how do you get rats off an island? My grandmother showed me." I had to admit, this man was interesting me, drawing me to him like a moth to a lamp, in spite of my situation. He had a vivacious, immersive voice which compelled you to listen.

"You put an oil drum in a pit and hinge open the lid. Then you coat the lid in the coconut. The rats come for the coconut and plink, plink, plink, plink; they fall into the trap. Then what do you do? Throw it in the ocean? Burn it? No."

He had come quite close now, so close that I could see his face. His outstanding features, which were heavy eyelids and a nose which has probably been broken more than once, gave him an uniquely striking face. He was still advancing. _Predator..._

"You just leave it. And then one by one…"

He mimicked a masticating sound. I tensed again and could not withstand a slight flinch. Only the slightest. It might seem a trifle, but at this instant I already partly lost this game, this _dance_ of power.

"They start eating each other until there are only two left. The two survivors. Then what do you do? Kill them? No. You release them into the trees. But they will not eat coconut any more."

He stood in front of me now, towering above me. I felt profoundly vulnerable, sitting on a chair, my hands fastened behind my back. He looked down on me.

"Now they will only eat rat. You have changed their nature. The two survivors, this is what she made us." I jerkily exhaled. Inhaled, held my breath, counted to ten, exhaled. Looked up at him. The moment we made eye contact it felt like his eyes penetrated my soul, revealing al my secrets and fears. He had dark eyes, discrepant with his otherwise pale skin and ashen hair.

_Adrenaline. Survivor instinct. Panic rising. Could not show. __**Not again.**_

I kicked him in the loins. He fell on his knees, grunting in pain.

On both sides of my head, gun barrels were pressed against my temples. In my neck, I felt the barrel of the heavy machine gun. I didn't move, only looked down at the blonde man. Seconds passed, but they felt like hours. Then, finally, he looked up, his hair had fallen in front of his face. In his eyes there wasn't anger, not even pain, or embarrassment. He looked at me mockingly. He already knew he had won and he knew I was only putting up a show. The façade was broken, shattered like glass. He jerked his head sideways and said "leave".

The men with the guns left. Up till this day, I still think he wanted to finish me himself. All by himself.

He stood up, obviously still physically in pain because he grunted again, and reached for a chair. He put it just in front of me and sat down heavily. He shot a glance at me from below his eyebrows. "Ah, to let the rat nip at his freedom makes him only more desperate to escape." He sighed and shook his head. "She sent you here, knowing that you would most likely die... Mommy was very bad." Little by little, a smile crept on his face.


	2. Shadow in the snow

"Thank you, miss Moneypenny", I said. I closed the box again, swallowed, and looked in the distance, pretending to stare at London's clock tower. The view couldn't bother me bloody less at this moment though. "You're welcome", Eve said, before she silently turned and left the roof of Mallory's office. I should say M's office. I don't know how long I remained there.

They had read her will today.

When I walked home that evening, a light snow was falling. I was cold, but I had never truly felt warm since that night at Skyfall. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw her face. I saw _his_ face. I have been tortured before by my enemies, but only physically. Not like him.  
_Everybody needs a hobby.  
So what's yours?  
Resurrection._

Sometimes I think it was all a dream... a nightmare, rather. That I am not sure any more what really happened that evening. All I _do_ know is that I still get my orders from M and I am used as a tool to track down and liquidate people of whom I do not know why they are my enemy.

Yet, that night, something in me died. With her, or with him, I don't know.  
_She sent you here, knowing you are not ready, that you would most likely die._

_Orphans always make the best recruits.  
_I am the last rat standing.

When I crossed the junction that lead to my new apartment, I saw a shadow from the corner of my eye. With a pounding heart I unconsciously crouched a little, turning to the direction where I saw it. I stood there for a while, listening, but there was nothing to be heard. Snow smothers all sound.

When I entered my apartment, I threw my jacket in the corner and walked to my liquor closet. There I poured a large glass of Macallan 50, which I emptied in one gulp, and I saw a shadow again. I chose to ignore it and drunk another glass. I already felt the alcohol working taking its effect. I sat down on my couch, with my feet up on the coffee table. I closed my eyes. When I opened them, he stood before me. I shot upwards from my comfortable sitting position. My breath caught, my jaw dropped and I could do nothing but stare at him.

A perfect replica of our first encounter. The beige suit, grey cardigan, expensive Prada blouse and of course the blond hair. He said nothing. He just stood there, looking down at me.

I squeezed my eyes shut. When I reopened them, he was gone. I let out a soft sigh of relief. It must have been the alcohol.

Suddenly, a hand on my shoulder, his voice, next to my ear: "Hello Mr Bond." His breath tickled against my jaw. I closed my eyes.

My nightmare has just begun.


	3. Thank you

At nightfall, everyone was gone. Undoubtedly there were guards outside of the room, but here, there weren't. I was still tied on the chair on which he had welcomed me to his island. I looked around again, almost twisted my neck while trying to look behind me. No, there really wasn't anyone. I tried untying the knots which fastened my hands together, and after a while I succeeded. I was surprised at how easy it was. I was actually also surprised by the lack of security.

I crouched and made my way to the elevator, seeing as there was no other way of getting out, pausing after every few steps to listen again. I had no gun, so if I got caught, my chance of fighting my way out of it was horrifyingly small. I got into the elevator and, begging that the elevator didn't make much sound, pressed -1F. I needed the radio to get out of here and preferably a gun.

When I got out of the elevator, I saw a door to my right and one right in front of me. I was standing in a really tiny hallway, barely lit by a flickering bulb. I snuck up to the door right of me, lightly pressing my ear against it. I heard nothing. I got down, flat on my stomach and peeked through the tiny space between the door and the floor and I could make out some shapes. I got up again and silently cursed myself for not bringing a knife, hidden in my shoe or something. I didn't have anything to defend myself with except my fists. I decided to go for it because I could not do nothing. When I opened the door and I wasn't attacked immediately, I let go of my breath. I listened. Nothing. The light from the hallway illuminated the room a bit and I saw a chair and a desk, with above the latter tens of television screens, all showing different parts of the island. I saw no security, nowhere on the island. Even the Chimera was gone, as I saw on the screen which showed the harbour. There was no one.

I decided not to concern myself further with that at the moment and looked around the room, searching for my radio. I found it in a small box and I also found my Walther, which I had lost at the casino back in Macau. "What the hell," I whispered.

When I got back in the hallway, I heard a sound coming from behind the other door. My breath caught and once again I got on my stomach in front of the door. Darkness again. I switched the light off in the hallway and I opened the door, my gun at the ready. After a few seconds I could see a kingsize bed. The sounds were coming from a person on that bed. I aimed, but after a while I lowered my gun again because the person was asleep. A really, really faint light was coming from a night lamp beside the bed and with a shock I recognised the blond-haired person. He was asleep, dreaming, I figured from the sounds. I was already retreating back in the hallway when I remember why I was here. I swallowed, advancing again.

I walked up to him, kneeled down beside the bed and pressed the barrel of the gun to the soft skin between his neck and chin. He woke up to the kiss of cold metal. I looked him in the eyes and I saw no fear, only regret. I pulled the hammer. Before I could pull the trigger, however, he whispered, "Say it. Say it. My real name." His eyes pierced mine, and I had a hard time not to look away. With a cold heart I said it. "Tiago. Tiago Rodrigues."

"Thank you." He closed his eyes. Then I shot.


End file.
